First Person Scully - 1/1
Author: Sue
Rating: PG
Category: TLG/Scully
Spoilers: First Person Shooter, Three of
a Kind.
Summary: The guys have a different slant
on venture capital.
Disclaimer: All the X-Files characters and
references are property of C. Carter, 10-13
Productions and FOX.

First Person Scully

Dana Scully's Apartment
6:45 P.M.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Scully..."

"Hello, back at ya, Frohike.
What's up?"

"A-are you busy tonight?"

Scully wrinkled her brow, a
sneaking suspicion creeping
up on her and confirmed in the
same instant of cognition.
"Uh, why do you ask?" she stalled,
bringing the wide lip of her
favorite cup to her puckering mouth
for a sampling sip of green tea.
First the tea, to be promptly
followed up by a slow, soul-soothing
soak in a lively tub of Mr. Bubbles,
with water as hot as her skin could
stand. Being alone with her simple
pleasures on Saturday nights, after
a grueling week such as this one had
been, ruled!

Hesitating an extra second, distracted
by the buzzy, annoying twitter of
Langly and Byers in the background,
talking at once, Frohike forged ahead,
"Is Mulder there?"

"Uh...no. Mulder's not here. He
hasn't taken up permanent residence,"
she said, and thought, 'Not yet, that
is.' "Are you looking for him?"

Frohike smiled, and mentally uttered,
'Good.' Tonight was Scully's night;
the salient capping of an undertaking
well taken. "Would you like to come
over for some dinner at our pla--"

"Uh, er..." He's sweet, she thought,
a teasing smile forming, with her
thinking how intrepid he'd looked
suited up in cyber battle gear; trying
to appear formidable, almost getting
killed. But, sighing, with a shake of
her head, and letting go of the fleeting,
pint-sized image, she countered,
"Frohike, it's very considerate of you,
but we've been over this befo--"

"No, no, dear, it's nothing like that."
Following a somewhat nervous spate of
throat-clearing, he finished in his
sincerest sounding cadence, "Byers and
Langly'll be here too. The three of us
would be honored having you as our special
guest for the evening." Placing his palm
over the mouthpiece, he whispered, "I think
she's thinking it over." Byers motioned to
Frohike for his handing the phone over. The
older man shook his head adamantly, conveying
in no uncertain terms, 'no way!'

In that moment, like a bolt of lightning, Langly
struck. He snatched the wireless out of Frohike's
hand, and voiced his appeal. "Like, pleeeeese,
Scully? Fro didn't incinerate the bird this time
like it was for the picnic on Labor Day. It's
smokin'--that's figurative; not lit. Fried to
golden perfection. No hype. And I've already
tasted the triple baked beans medley and mystery
corn. They're like so worthy. Straight up. Say
you're comin' over, okay? Fro even tried out this
new recipe for this way serious double mud pie,
which I've already had too. Man, it's nectar.
Hey, ya gotta come! Please, please. Please?
We've got something real cool we gotta show--"

"Yo, man, gimme that," Frohike snapped like a brittle
twig, trying to swipe the phone away from a startled
Langly. "What are ya tryin' to do? Make it a sure
bet she won't show? You talk too much, man!"

On the other end, Scully strained to hear more.

The skirmish for the phone was settled by Byers, as he
jimmied the device out of Frohike's vise grip with his
honed look of noblesse oblige, and nimble finger action.
Although, since Frohike was currently engrossed in waging
a war of wild wits with Langly, the task of apprehending
the phone wasn't as hard as one might have figured, any
other pedestrian day. "Scully, it would mean a lot if
you could see your way clear to having dinner with us.
May we count on you? As Frohike pointed out, you'd
honor us with your presence."

That man ought to be cloned, Scully considered, seeing,
in her mind's eye the last of Mr. Bubbles' progeny
burst in her imagination. Mr. Finesse wins the decision,
she awarded, and it's not the first time. How can I
refuse, in the light of that gracious invitation?

"What time would you and your partners in cyberspace
like me to be there?"

"How does seven-thirty sound?"

"Like dinner. See you then."

After Byers ended the call, which the Gunmen had seen
in one of their rarer moments of non-paranoiac reasoning,
to let it go unrecorded, his yammering cronies set upon
him in earnest. "Yes; at seven-thirty. She agreed
because I asked her properly."

"Well, la-di-da, John."

"Yeah, dude, so a big two points in triple overtime."

"There is one thing though," Byers said in such a way
that made his buds hold their collective breaths for no
apparent reason.

"What?" Frohike imitated, only with a sharper edge.
Langly propped his pointy elbow up on Frohike's
shoulder, a favorite meditative pose, and badgered
Byers as well with similar angsty looks.

"I think she suspects...I thought I detected a certain
expectant quality in her voice."

Langly and Frohike exchanged stark expressions of
disbelief.

"Ain't no way, man. How could she?" Langly wheedled.

"Not possible, buddy," Frohike supported with a glancing
blow upside the blond's head which was shaking back and
forth in catatonic rhythm to a degree. "Despite
Blabberman, the wordy wonder here."

"I wouldn't be surprised, fellows," Byers countered in
rare form. "Mulder said he really couldn't talk
yesterday, with her being right there, but even so,
there's a reason she's a Special Agent. Accent on the
*special*. Scully's quicksilver any way you look at her,
which is precisely why she's the logical progression for
what we have in mind, what with our having seen her in
optimal butt whipping, take no prisoners action. Not
much gets by her, courtesy her not missing a trick.
She's quite a woman."

"Touche," Frohike chirped. "Virtual perfection in and
out of max res. Maitreya is dead; long live the lethal
new cyber femme fatale."

"Totally all the way down with First Person Scully,"
Langly hailed. "She's just gotta give us the green
light. This could really be our big break, dudes."

His co-conspirators nodded reflexively in heady
concurrence.

* * *

Lone Gunmen's Headquarters
8:18 P.M.

The free-form table, ergonomically adequate for
its usual three, was a cozy, albeit cramped
setting, for the Gunmen plus their FBI darling
this night. For once, Langly hadn't been
stretching it. Frohike had outdone himself,
Scully readily conceded, as Byers passed her the
baked beans, for a second helping, then the platter
of deep fried chicken for her helping herself to
a third piece.

"Delicious," she murmured, between savoring bites.
What are they up to, she deliberated, regarding her
poker-faced hosts, having only Mulder's cryptic
conversation with them yesterday afternoon to go on.
He'd really pushed her buttons once he'd ended the
call and had kept infuriatingly mum about the
esoteric one way confab, despite her best efforts
to get him to spill.

*I aimed to please for you tonight, my lovely one*,
Frohike congratulated, allowing the indulgence of
giving himself a brace of mental back pats. He was
about to say how sensational she looked, dressed in
one of his favorite black pantsuit outfits, with her
hair up for a change, and she was wearing pearls, not
the cross, when he altered course in mid stream of
consciousness. "Drop that pie, Mister!"

Langly froze as he'd done that sad time he was
mugged in semi-broad daylight, across from the
Washington Monument when he'd been on his way to
meet, then ferry, a source to their covert digs.

"But, Fro--"

"But nothing, you bottomless pit. That last piece's
for our guest of honor," the feisty cook ordered,
with intent to protect projecting from his eyes.
"Now chill with bein' so greedy, man."

Sheepishly, a contrite look became Langly's facial
expression, although his slowness about relinquishing
his hold on the best dessert he'd ever shovelled
into his watering mouth betrayed his being loath to
do so. "Okay. Sheesh. Don't have a cow, Julia
Childs." He made room between the chicken and the
beans for the pie, directly in front of Scully's
plate. "Sorry," he said, sounding as though he were
ten again.

"It's okay, Langly," Scully assured, identifying;
seeing herself as that child as well, when either
Charlie or Billy had routinely beaten her out for
the last piece of whatever around 'ye ole Scully'
dinner table. It felt as if it were so long ago.
"Share?" she invited, prodding a brightening Langly
with encouraging looks.

"Like it's okay? You don't mind?"

"Langly..." Frohike rumbled, readying to remove
the pie from his reach, in the midst of Langly
reaching for it. "You're the one who's had most
of it!"

"She said it's *okay*," Langly whined. "Don't
make it personal, like usual. Chill with the
raggin'. It's way tired, dude."

"Oh, personal? Like usual?" Frohike rolled his
eyes, then nailed the younger man with them, and
the indictment. "Langly, you are so full of crap,"
he spluttered, having had his fill of the
complainer with his torturing complaining for
one day. "You wanna hear real raggin'? It's
Thunderdome, let's go, Blondie, you as--"

Clearing his throat, and, what he hoped for as
well, the air, Byers hastily intervened with a
staid tone, "*Gentlemen*, we have a lady present,
may I remind."

The uncomfortable lady shifted her chary eyes
between the antagonists, then the fattening bone
of contention. Fact of the matter was, she was
stuffed to the gills, having been barely able to
finish the chicken leg and just managing to eat
three more forkfuls of the honey-cured beans.

Knowing full well he was acting like a raving
juvenile, with Scully in attentive attendance,
Frohike stewed in his own riled juices. The
skinny, surly blond had the seamless knack for
smashing down on all his wrong buttons, what
seemed as though all the time now. "Shut-up,
Ringo, or I'll..." Frohike let his voice die
away. Blinking, a wave of remorse washed over
him. *What am I doin'? Losin' it like that,
at a time like this*?

"I'll...oh, never mind." He focused on the
object of their inventive projection, who was
sitting betwixt and between the three of them,
at the moment making a valiant attempt to look
as though their arguing was happening somewhere
else. "Forget it."

"Forget you," Langly fumed, jumping to his feet,
looking as though he'd awakened moments ago
from one of his weirder weird dreams. Frohike
stood too, embarrassed for them both.

Before the feuding Gunmen realized what Scully
was doing, she was holding the pie she'd just
lifted from Frohike's outstretched hand, which
betrayed his agitation with its slight tremor.

She plucked up her fork, and bore down on the
tip of the sole piece of chocolatey pie.

After the morsel's disappearance, and its
being swallowed down, Scully directed at
Frohike, "Melts in your mouth." Smacking her
lips for emphasis, she then said with a decisive
hitch in her voice, meaning to sound unequivocal,
"Can't possibly eat another bite."

She patted her abdomen whose protuberance was
more discernible now, than when she'd first
arrived for what was supposed to be for her
dining pleasure.

"Langly, or Byers, or even you, Frohike...it's
all yours. No more in-fighting, okay?
Definitely not a boon for the digestive process."

Testily, Frohike looked to Langly. He, in turn,
with a shifty-eyed quality to his gaze, glanced
over to Byers, who had strands of disappointment
weaved in his face. The erudite passed the
loaded look back to Frohike who shrugged then,
wanting to kick himself first, then Langly,
where the sun never shines.

"The 'can you top this' na-nana-na-na ends,"
Scully said, laying her trump card on the table,
"or I'm gone." She set the piece of pie down
near Langly's plate.

What clinched it for the Gunmen, especially for
the former wranglers, was the infamous raising
of a sculpted eyebrow. She had her arsenal,
and she chose, and used, her weapons well.

"And, I was really enjoying myself too; really,
in your interesting companies, guys." She failed
to stifle the insistent series of belches which
surprised them all upon their successful escapes;
Scully most of all. "Ex-excuse me. I--oops.
Excuse me again." Giggling a little, she took up
her water glass, took a few gulps. Then, she
surprised them some more when she continued, "Beans,
beans the musical fruit. The more you eat them,
the more you..."

Another belch, she couldn't suppress, and another...
"Oops." She took another sip or two.

The Gunmen grinned in unison, even Byers, waiting
for their celebrative guest to finish the goofy
rhyme.

"Pass gas...one way or the other." Scully
re-seated herself, as did Frohike and Langly.
Each rendered up his own unique apology, which
she graciously accepted with a single nod.

"I'll get you the Rolaids," Byers suggested,
already rising to his feet.

"Oh, no thanks. I'm fine. Really. I promise I
won't do, 'the other.' On my Girl Scouts' honor.
My first merit badge was for being trustworthy...or
was it for being resourceful? Oh well, whatever."
She regarded her mellowed out hosts thoughtfully.
"Okay, guys, what's cookin'?" Pointedly, for
Frohike's benefit, she insinuated, "And I'm *not*
referring to the mystery corn. But, just out of
idle curiosity, what puts the mystery in the corn?
Even after three servings, I haven't been able to
put a taste bud on it. Don't get me wrong, it's
a real pleaser, 'Hike. What's the secret, though?"

Her admirer winked at her, basking in the warmth of
her inquisitiveness, and perhaps a smidgen of
something a lot chummier. This version of Scully
was very much to his liking. She had allowed
herself to become disarmed, and so much more
accessible; ripe for proposing their proposition.

"Picante relish, blended with sweet corn, garden
fresh cilantro and red hot chili peppers. Don't
say I ever held out on you, Scully. I'll shoot
the recipe to ya before you go."

"Hey, thanks. I'll try it out on Mulder sometime,
when I'm feeling generous." Following the lull
in conversation, and after Byers went to get the
antacid for himself, she watched Langly down the
final fragment of pie. When she saw that he'd
swallowed, and followed it up with a Surge chaser,
she said as softly as newly-fallen snow, "So,
guys... What've you got? To show me, that is."

Frohike zinged Langly his finest, 'She's so
witchy, man' look, to which the long-haired
computerphile, known as Lonegunner1, or
Goldilocks1013 in and out of numerous chat rooms,
gave him a springy double thumps-up.

"Okay, so you're right *again*, Fro. Big, bad
mouth. But I'm excited, and I'm excited all
fifty-foot plus height of 'Zilla." Langly waited
for Byers to get settled, upon his return, before
telling the agent the score. "First Person Scully."

Gaping at him, she responded before realizing how
uncharacteristically dumbfounded she sounded, "Wha?"
Not bothering to hide her being thrown for a double
loop, she volleyed, "First Person *who*?"

"First Person *Scully*. That's the name of the
virtual game the three of us developed--"

Cutting Langly off effectively with a shrill verbal
wedge, "You did *what*?"

"This virtual game we created," he cogently
plowed on, "with you being our version of that kick
ass, bloodlusting cyber warrior chick, 'Traya.
Currently, it's in final drafting stages." Sensing
a certain hesitancy in his co-creators to fill her
in, he happily continued, sounding like the kid
with the brand new toy, which he wasn't ashamed
to admit he was. "Only, we programmed you, uh,
Danathala, your virtual counterpart, to be a lot
less flakey, than that program jumping babe.
Move over, Daryl Musashi, may he rest in pieces."

Sounding drugged, Scully wheezed, "Tell me you're
kidding." The trio shook their heads; nobody said
another word. Balking, and still in the throes
of being wholly incredulous, almost pleading with
Langly, whose face read like doubly encrypted script
that he wasn't, she croaked, "I can't...be...lieve."
She stood then, locking onto the edge of the table,
as though overturning it was the next option.

"You'd better be kidding, because if you're not, and
you guys have made my worst nightmare come true, you
know what I still owe you from Vegas. I'll collect
tonight, and I'll kick your ass first, Langly, even
though I let you off on account of sharing your slot
winnings. All bets are off if you three hopped-up
testosterone junkies have turned me into Afterglow's
twin."

"Aw, c'mon, Scully." Trying to change the subject,
"Afterwho?" Langly intoned, following a deep, dry
swallow. He bounced his eyes off his alarmed
cohorts, who looked visibly rocked.

Byers especially, who had initially tried to talk
the other two out of engineering the game.

"You know," Frohike voiced in a low, metallic
sounding drawl, "the ho Mulder told us about that
they'd hauled in for questioning whose body Phoebe
scanned to pattern her 'goddess' after."

"Oh, her," Langly said, more to himself, remembering.
When Mulder had told them about the spandex-sheathed
sexpot, that was just about when Langly had lost
interest in the conversation. 'Prosties' weren't
his speed. They were fun to ogle, sure; make rude
remarks about. Joke with Mulder over. But not
get all worked-up over. Women who meant something,
women like Scully, were.

"Never mind," Scully retorted harshly; perhaps a
little too harshly, she considered, so she started
again, this time, sounding as though she were talking
to toddlers. "Guys, violent video, virtual, whatever
games represent a good deal of what I resent most
about them. Their accent on violence. There's more
than enough of it in this sad world at large. Why
must there be the fascination with it as a pastime?
Maybe it's the estrogen, which I'm not apologizing
for, but I just don't, and never will get it."

Shrugging, not wanting to be on the soapbox all
night, she ended, "I suppose you think I'm being
narrow-minded..."

"I understand, Scully," Byers assured.
Half-heartedly, Frohike and Langly looked as
though they weren't totally without insight. "I
think it would be fair to say we all do; and we
are sympathizers. Despite our enthusiasm for
the virtual jungle. It's just that, well. You
were awe-inspiring, my dear. Defending yourself
and Mulder against all those indefeasible comers."
He gauged by the nudgey looks of his fellow
hackers that he should go on; he had her ear.
"Aggression is as old as atoms; so is beauty.
We tried for combining the two. Won't you at
least have a look at what it is you're being quick
to condemn?"

"Please?" Langly cast in. "Wasn't like it was a
snap to bring it from idea to software. We swaged,
sweated and slaved."

"For us three ol' stooges," Frohike bandied like
Mr. P.T. Barnum himself as he made the bold move
to link her arm with his, "my, dear?"

Three against one, Scully sized up. Oh, yeah.
How fair is that? She gave Frohike another peeved
flick of her eyes, then relented, "Oh, all right."
As he led her off to the super computer which housed
their lastest brainchild, with Langly and Byers
bringing up the rear like expectant fathers, she
cautioned, "I'm just looking. It doesn't mean I'm
going to like it..."

xXx

A half hour later...

"Reset it, Langly," Scully commanded, over the
stridulation. "I want to see that move I make
again." As he hopped to, in order to comply,
she asked, "So this was Mulder's idea?"

"Yep," Langly confirmed, recalling how excited the
four of them had been, and their congratulating
Mulder on coming up with such an inspired brainstorm.

"Ooh, that little cadre of grey ones, emerging from
the spacecraft, in the corner over there, never stood
a chance," Scully exclaimed, as she catenated her
split second retaliation via the senso-interpreting
device, and watched herself as 'Danathala,' with
Langly orchestrating the hostile action on keyboard,
blast the living lights out of the invaders. "What
level is it now?" she asked in one breathless whoosh.
"You're mine, CGB Chimney! Ashes to ashes, dust to
dust!"

"Three, with factor two gradient; the highest,"
Byers informed, pleased with his input since he had
been the one to suggest a multi-level scope of skill
proficiency.

"You've got the deadest eye in seven counties,
Scully," Frohike awarded in high glee. "You're
winning again. So, we take it you like?"

"Wait...hooha, take that, Flukeman! Get your
savage suckers off of that child! Oh, no you
don't--back into the sewer where you belong!"
Nodding in approval, she fired back, "Big time, I
like. Which X-File program file designation did
you give this one? It's a toughie."

She watched the screen dim to black, wondering if
she should stay longer to interface with the other
two programs in play again.

"That was X-File number 1310; 'Shoot-out Beyond
The Moon.' A real rip, right?" Langly removed
the modulink-disk from the hard drive, hefting
it from hand to hand. "Nifty nodus, huh?
Correct-toe?"

"Well, I know I'm not telling you this to stroke
your already inflated egos, oh yeah. You guys
are too much." The Gunmen treated themselves
to giving each other little punches, jabs and
bats on the others' arms. "Okay, okay, let's
not get sappy. At least not until I leave."
Then, thoughtfully she asked, "You think this
game could rake in the big cash?"

"Absolutely; positively," Byers and Frohike
assured.

"Do monkeys have tails?" Langly imposed.

"Well, not *all* monkeys," Scully said with
candid inflection, and she wasn't thinking
hominids. Langly smirked, because he knew what
she was driving at. Just because she'd seen
him eat four bananas at one sitting once was
no reason to rub his nose in it every chance
she got. "I think your creation has definite
marketable possibilities. I mean, if you've
thought that far ahead."

"Oh, we have thought that far ahead. Ahead to
the stock market, several of our favorite banks,
the one in Switzerland in particular, and back,"
Frohike said just as candidly.

"And you say, basically, Mulder gave you this
idea?"

"Basically, he used us as sounding boards to lay
down the heavy basics. Right up to the grungy
pod fields buried under the snow and ice in
Antarctica with the gestating aliens ready to
hatch. Check this baby out." Langly put the
previous modulink-disk back in its housing, and
took out the one that contained several of Mulder's
particular X-File favorites as gaming elements.

The Floridian sea monster, the virus-packing honey
bees and the ever elusive Mothmen, to name three
off the cuff.

"This one's insanely awesome," Langly said with
a face-stretching grin. "Powered up to the max."

"Guys, if you can make a go of this, go for it.
You've got my endorsement, without reservations,
whatsoever. You need releases signed, just let
me know. The X-Files have paid us back in the
worst ways all these years. Pay back of a
substantial monetary kind wouldn't hurt. It's
mighty generous of you to cut Mulder and me in,
if this flies. Oh... You have no idea how much
I appreciate your *not* turning me into a
silicone dripping hooker from way back."

"Credit where credit is due," Byers said looking
very pleased with himself.

"The FPS-looking outfit I'm wearing. That's all
right. Whose idea was Danathala? Oh, and
forgetting about my initial reaction, guys, that
name rocks."

Byers said proudly, "You were unanimous with the
four of us. Who else could have been the most
logical choice, Scully? Along with Mulder, of
course, you're our hero."

"I second that," Langly hustled in.

"And, you know where I stand on that issue,"
Frohike said with an array of twinkles pluming
like fireworks in his eyes, "Scully..."